By Your Side
by Tenkasen
Summary: She thinks all in all, it's an okay way to go. Together, she means.


**Title:** By Your Side  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T for: Character death, swearing, blood.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> SoulxMaka  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "_She thinks all in all, it's an okay way to go. Together, she means._"  
><strong>AN:** This? This is terrible, cliché, and makes me embarrassed that I wrote it. Of course, that could be because romance isn't really my thing, but Soul and Maka's relationship fascinated me and wouldn't let go.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Takes place... Post-anime, I suppose.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Soul Eater is not a product I can lay claim to.  
><strong>Oneshot.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>By Your Side.<strong>

* * *

><p>She thinks, all in all, it's an okay way to go.<p>

Together, she means.

Maka had always thought of death. Death itself was her friend with the OCD problem over symmetry, and her leader with a comical, but kind looking mask, so it was hard not to, especially considering her line of work. She had decided long ago, that she either wanted to die of old age, happily in her sleep, or die protecting something she deeply cared for in, in battle. Death by any other means; drowning, choking, or illness was something she took many steps to avoid. She learned how to swim as a child, knew not to shove anything in her mouth that wasn't _edible_ or eat far too fast, and made sure to stay as healthy as possible through exercise, and healthy eating.

Secretly, though, as she endeavored to keep in hidden from everyone, she wanted to die for Soul. She knew he'd protest vehemently to that, so she allowed the idea that took root in her to stay out of sight, to be nurtured in the shadows. Soul was her partner, her best friend, and she hated it when _he_ took damage for _her_ mess-ups. So if the occasion in which she could trade her life for his, she'd take it, whether Soul agreed or not.

* * *

><p>Soul, for his part, was adamant in his belief that the <em>weapon<em> should protect the _meister_, that it was his personal and everlasting duty to take her blows and pain, to ensure her safety. She was wounded emotionally every time, he knows, but he's partly happy about that, because it means she _cares_, otherwise she wouldn't try to hold tears back in vain as she vowed to get stronger and make sure he wouldn't keep taking injuries for her. She could be hurt emotionally, but emotional wounds can always be cured, healed, and don't cause one to die unlike how a _physical _wound could. (Soul ignored the possibility of depression; Maka was too strong for that.)

He knew that he also protected her so much in and outside the world of battle was because he cared too, though much more than she could have imagined. She saw them as close partners, and he allowed her to keep it that way, and would until he figured they were _both_ ready to take it further. She had a poor opinion of the male gender when it came to romance, and Soul, having met her father, understood, and resolved to take things slowly.

When the time came, he'd tell her. It'd have to be at the exactly right time; too soon would scare her, and screw their partnership _and_ friendship to hell, and too late would be if Maka started falling for someone else. Soul wasn't too worried about the latter, as he mainly made sure every guy that crossed the border into his territory ended up in the infirmary (and usually himself too, with a book-shaped dent on his head), but there were always doubts in his head, little seeds that he could never truly erase until he laid his feeling bare for her and heard her response — hoping with all his might that'd be the one he wants.

He'd be willing to look like the most uncool guy in the world for her — he'd do anything for her, even if she only understood half of it.

* * *

><p>It was a mission, like all others.<p>

Only it didn't turn out like all others.

* * *

><p>He held her close, trying not to think of how her warm blood was oozing out onto him, and how it was all his <em>stupid, stupid fault<em>. He thinks he should of known that it was a potential trap, and that he should have seen, should have anticipated the blow that took a slice of Maka's stomach and prevented it, despite that there was no evidence that could have alerted him to any of it beforehand. He's latched onto the idea, and refuses to allow his meister to take any of the blame, even though her whispers of "_I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry"_ are making him guilty and even now, trying to make her feel better by shouldering the blame. The logical part of his brain, the one that could detangle itself from emotions knows that it's not, and Maka is partly at fault.

But so is he.

And for that, he can't ever forgive himself.

* * *

><p>She clings to him, her single life-line, her only source of comfort. She bleeding, and he can't help her, she can't help herself, and she knows she's dying. She regrets not being able to stop Soul from taking an unnecessary, <em>mortal wound<em> protecting her deteriorating body, but is slightly proud of the fact she took her mortal wound for him. It's a bit hypocritical, she knows, but doesn't care. It doesn't matter now anyway; now her throwing him in his deadly weapon form away as she was raked by razor sharp claws was in vain, because immediately after, Soul reverted to human form and took to his hobby of being her shield instead of her scythe. The claws took a different approach to its intended finishing move, becoming as thin as needles, but still as sharp as shark's teeth. Soul would probably die of internal bleeding now, Maka muses, idly feeling her tears soak his torn, red-stained shirt.

Her blood is gushing out, pouring onto the streets and dieing it crimson.

And she was going to die of external bleeding. She finds it, somewhere deep in her brain, where insanity dwells, ironic and humorous; complete opposites, yet similar in goals and feelings. Their deaths would be opposite, yet similar. She tries to say she's sorry, and finds it's all she can say, even though it hurts to. It hurts to breathe, too, but she'll keep it up as much as she can.

She hasn't got much time left, and believes it'd be stupid to think otherwise.

* * *

><p>He can't move. He isn't too sure, but he thinks it's because something important inside is really busted up. More than one important thing, too. How uncool. Particularly because otherwise, he'd try to bind up Maka's wound applying as much pressure to stem the blood flow, and take her to safety. The best he managed was to put pressure on the gaping hole in her stomach physically; he forced her close, squishing his body to hers, and ignores the stinging feeling every time he moves. Damn it all if he doesn't make the most of their last moments, because the stupid, goddamned <em>kishin<em> is still there, sadistic bastard, watching them die slowly, hidden in the shadows. Soul both hates and thanks it for that. Even if he could move, he doesn't think they'd get too far. But at least, they have a few moments.

This... was it, and he hated it, hated it more than he hated his family by a thousand-fold, but he focused back on Maka, because she was still crying and her breathing was becoming shallower by the second. He was really dizzy, he noticed, and his brain didn't want to stay at the level of coherent thought. Black blood beckoned him, baiting him with sweet promises to heal him, save him from death. But what was the point of living if Maka wasn't there? The black blood couldn't save her, and even if it could reach her, it'd be too late, because she's lost too much blood. He feels it's a little too late for him, too, because eventually the demon inside of his head shuts up, and makes no attempt to save its host, and its own existence. Maybe there's poison in him too, he can't tell.

He hasn't got much time left, and wishes he could think otherwise.

"Maka." He rasps. He needs to tell her, now, before the chance slips away. "_Maka._"

She forces one eye open, partly, and though she stopped speaking, apologizing profusely ages — minutes? — ago, her mouth was still going through the movements. It stops, as she tries to get Soul's rather close face into better focus.

"Maka..." Soul's heart beats faster now, and will probably fail in a few minutes. "I..."

* * *

><p>Maka sees the determined glow in his eyes, his odd ruby red eyes that she always thought was cool.<p>

For a long time, she figures she's been living in a state of wishful thinking. She doesn't _want_ to love, but by the time she realized she was the target of affection from Soul, she had simultaneously discovered she had similar feeling toward her weapon. The logic in her brain, which found this greatest discovery, was quickly flooded by emotions she couldn't figure, and an hour later she was _mostly_ positive she convinced herself of these feelings, and that she wasn't _really_ in love with Soul that way, she just cared a lot, that's all. But her own body betrayed her; it often did things without approval from the brain. Her face heated up whenever their hands brushed innocently. When he gave her that crooked smile of his, her heart would start beating wildly. She had a warm glow whenever he called her 'cool', for whatever reason, and basked in happiness when he was with her and no one else.

That's why, when he's trying to speak, her brain gives an approval for one of the last things she'll do in the realm of the living.

She musters up all her strength, courage, and recklessness and smashes her lips to his.

* * *

><p>From Soul's end, it's more akin to an high-powered explosion, even if the actual feeling of her pushing their lips together is rather weak. He's swamped with feelings of relief, happiness, and all is drowned with sorrow in a matter of a few seconds, because rational thinking and a sturdy memory get in the way of enjoying ones last moments. They're young, haven't even reached twenty, and their dying out in some God-forsaken land. Death City was far away, much too far away for any of their friends to arrive on time and save the day like in a happy ending story.<p>

So he revels in the moment, tightening his grip on her, hoping he isn't depleting her lungs of oxygen.

The break apart, to his disappointment, in seconds though. Maka's gasping, in either pain or need of air, her eyes betraying her pain as she tries to suppress. He always liked her eyes, he thinks distractedly. Like dull emeralds, with a fire behind them that lit them up whenever she was determined about something. That fire was dying now, just like her. Just like him.

"...I love you." He finishes, a bit lamely. It's not something he needed to say, not after that; it's something he wanted to say. Maka looks like a blur of color in his eyes now, and a small bubble of panic implodes inside; is he starting to fade now? The world does seem to be spinning and swirling pretty fast now.

"I love you, too." Soul listens to her voice, barely a whisper. It's rough, akin to coughing out something you wanted the other to hear and not hear at the same time. She's a mess of ashy blonde, black and red now. Painstakingly, he tries to sort out her eyes from the blurred colors of reality. Jade eyes meet ruby ones, clear and crystal for one moment, before the link is shattered and she closes her eyes.

He buries his face in her hair and tells himself, dying or not, it's not cool for a guy to cry.


End file.
